


Close Quarters

by Melo_Mapo



Series: Din Djarin's Secret Network of Past Lovers [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din is Stuck on a Passenger Ship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with limited plot, Pre-Season/Series 01, Sparring, Sparring as Preliminaries, The Helmet Stays On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: Our favorite Mandalorian has to board passage on a decrepit passenger ship that ends up quarantined before landing. Thankfully, he's got a lovely guest to keep him company...
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Din Djarin's Secret Network of Past Lovers [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940539
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55
Collections: Melo Mapo’s Favorite Mandalorian Pairings





	Close Quarters

As he pushed the carbonite slab back into his passenger cabin, Din could not help but sigh. He hated everything about this situation: the Razor Crest out of commission on some sarlacc pit of an Outer Rim planet, and not enough credits to get it towed to the nearest mech bay. The only way to obtain the necessary funds was to deliver the bounty, but that meant traveling like every other shipless, broke commoner: aboard the cheapest cruise transport available.

At least he had a cabin to himself, he thought as he listened to other disgruntled passengers shuffle past in the hallway. The trip had been three grueling days long, and now, orbiting their destination, they’d been denied landing because a couple passengers turned out to have some kind of disease. Now, they all were stuck onboard for an indeterminate length of time as they sanitized the whole ship and tested everyone aboard. Just Din’s luck that the bounty would have to be delivered to the only planet in the sector that actually had any kind of effective governance and care for their citizens.

It was two hours into the wait when an impatient knock came on the door. Expecting the health agents, Din stood and slid the panel open. A tall, hooded figure considered him for a fraction of a second before stepping into the cabin and closing the door. Din had his blaster out by the time the person raised empty, blue-skinned hands and tipped their hood back. A Chiss? The newcomer was tall, taller than Din, but rotund in a way that spoke of a peaceful life. They weren’t Chiss, Din realized when taking in the long, braided white hair and yellow irises, but Pantoran.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Mandalorian,” said the Pantoran, their light voice betraying their female sex.

“If you’re trying to escape the Health agents, they haven’t come here yet.”

The humanoid smiled:

“I wished only to avoid the unwanted conversation of my cabin mate. Three days of detailed accounts of the best pod-racing victories from her favorite contestants is enough to try even my patience.”

Din holstered his blaster. At least a guest would provide some distraction, and there wasn’t much his beskar armor couldn’t deal with if she attempted robbing him.

“If it’s silence you wish for, you are welcome as my guest,” he finally answered. 

The Pantoran bowed:

“Much obliged, Mandalorian. I am called Eno.”

Din merely stepped back to his cot and sat down. The Pantoran slipped a travel bag off her shoulders and left it by the door, before removing her cape as well, revealing a lovely, curvy silhouette clad in a long, loose skirt and practical vest featuring multiple pockets. She carefully folded the cape and placed it upon her bag before sitting on the floor next to it, legs crossed and back resting on the wall, rearranging the skirt to cover herself. The gesture, unconsciously elegant, brought Din’s notice to her delicate hands, and to the curves under the fabric she was smoothing.

They waited.

They sat in silence and Din, hidden by his helmet, observed his guest. She was rather attractive, he noted, a half-smile lingering on her full lips as she scrolled through her datapad. An hour passed before a crackling message over the comms informed them that the inspection was still ongoing, but that they were low on fuel and that they would limit energy consumption to essential life-support systems. All passengers were to remain in their cabins. Din glanced at Eno, who had tucked her datapad away and was looking at the carbonite slab and its agonized occupant. She slowly turned to him and, realizing he was staring at her, tilted her head before asking: “Please tell me this doesn’t need energy to stay frozen?”

“It doesn’t need energy to stay frozen.”

She got up and walked closer to it, peeking behind the slab which was resting at an angle, leaned against the wall.

“Not plugged in, and the hover system is turned off to the save battery,” she stated.

She turned to him and Din nodded. Her smile turned cheeky: “Dare I ask what crime led your quarry to their current predicament?” She lightly traced the frozen woman’s brow, bunched in a soundless scream.

“Her puck said theft. I don’t ask beyond that.”

Eno hummed as her long fingers pursued their exploration, pushing at the carbonite like they were expecting it to yield as the flesh it contained would have. “Shame, I always enjoy the story behind the art, and she is quite the statuary piece right now.” The blue hands rested over the bronze, frozen ones, before tracing over the bounty’s arms, up to the shoulders, then to the breasts, and back down to the hips in an almost amorous caress that made the scream on the bounty’s face take another meaning altogether.

Din was starting to get disquietly aroused, and was going to defend his frozen bounty’s virtue when Eno broke it off, walking the couple of paces back to her spot along the wall and sitting down again.

“I apologize, Mandalorian. I did not uphold my promised silence. I shall endeavor to do better, although idleness is not suited to my character.”

Din chuckled. He was surprised she had been that quiet, actually. People usually had all manners of intrusive questions they loved to ask Mandalorians, and he wasn’t Paz, with a comeback always ready.

“You can move around the room if you need. I’m no conversationalist, but I don’t mind you pacing.”

She smiled: “I’ll keep it under consideration.”

She took a datapad out of her travel bag and another three hours passed during which Din watched her. She read and occasionally got up to stretch her legs or change her position from sitting on the floor to leaning on the wall. She also went to the fresher once, reporting as she returned that the water had been cut, but that the vacuum toilet still functioned. Din was getting sore himself, and did a few loops around the room, which she would observe with interest, before returning to her reading as he sat down again. He was just getting up for another round when she sighed:

“Is it me or is it getting warm in here?”

Din checked his helmet’s display. The temperature had indeed risen by several degrees in the last few hours, and the armor would soon cease to be able to keep up. The Mandalorian got up and checked the ventilation grate, removing a glove to feel the air. 

“We won’t asphyxiate, the air is still on.”

He turned to her and she was smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corner.

“That was the good news. What is the bad?” she asked.

“They’re saving energy on the coolant.”

“Oh.”

They regarded each other for a moment before she got up and started peeling off layers. The vest came off, and the long-sleeved shirt she wore beneath, leaving her in a tight tank top. She seemed to hesitate a bit, glanced at him again, and eventually took off the skirt as well. Underneath, she wore knee-length, tight pants, and three small knives strapped to each shapely thigh. She caught Din staring, though her hands went to the knives, misinterpreting the tilt of his helm. 

“Would you believe me if I said I was a traveling performer?” she joked as she sat back down. 

There was nervousness in her voice, and Din thought to reassure her – it was good sense to be armed, especially in the presence of a bounty hunter with plenty of weapons strapped about their person – but the sentences he came up with sounded all too menacing. Instead, he settled for leaning his Amban rifle on the bunk, and setting his blaster on the floor. 

“I would ask for a demonstration,” he eventually answered. 

Her posture relaxed and she unsheathed three knives before casually starting to juggle them. Glancing from the flying knives to him, and back at the blades, she smiled, and, without breaking the flow of her hands, slowly got back up. Facing Din, but with her attention on the air her knives cut through, she changed the rhythm until the blades were flying high enough that, without faltering, she was able to add a fourth, a fifth, and finally the last of the knives to the pattern. She glanced again at Din, and seeing him rapt, she varied the pattern again, weaving the blades under her arm, high, low, even catching them behind her back twice. The private show went until one of the knives slipped her grasp and clattered to the ground, breaking the rhythm. The other five blades she sheathed as she caught, with a fluidity that could only come from practice.

“Impressive.”

She bowed low, not just to Din but also to an imaginary audience, touching her hands to her heart before flinging them at the empty air in an over-the-top fashion that brought a smile out of Din. In the process, she also picked up the last knife, reuniting it to the others. 

The show had demanded a few minutes of high focus but low physical effort, and yet Din could see sweat pearling at her hairline. He himself was starting to feel the heat, as his armor could only do so much. The need to eat, drink, and exercise other bodily functions was also becoming more pressing. Deciding she was unlikely to run with his bounty – especially considering he was the only one with the code to activate the hover system – he stood up, grabbed his weapons and travel bag, and retreated to the refresher. 

There was, of course, a convenient closure that allowed him to urinate without removing the whole armor, but the heat was such that, in the privacy of the locked refresher, he took the time to remove the whole armor, helmet included, and its underlayer. Standing in his base layer under the ventilation provided much needed relief, in spite of the warm air. He would have enjoyed fresh water for his face and neck, but saved what was left in his canteen for drinking, alternating between tepid sips and ration bites as his sweat evaporated under the fresher’s fan. His hunger and thirst slaked, he suited back up, and stepped back into the main cabin. Had he been on his own in the cabin, he would have forgone all the armor but for the helmet, which would have been more comfortable, but he found he did not resent the company. Eno was polite, a bit intriguing, and very nice to look at. It was not often Din got to be in the company of soft, attractive civilians for any length of time. Din smiled to himself as he put on the helmet, and stepped out of the fresher. Eno was back to sitting by the wall, and Din took his previous position sitting on the bunk, setting his weapons within reach but not on his person. 

Only a few silent minutes had gone by before a knock came from the door. Before they could answer it, the panel slid open to reveal one human woman in an Health Agent uniform and two men from the ship’s crew, one human, one bothan. Din let go of the Amband rifle, and noticed Eno’s left hand quickly leaving her thigh as well. 

“Hello, my name is Arabella Mintry. I will be conducting your examination, then these men will give you food and water. Madam, please step forward.”

The tone brokered no arguments, and Eno stood up, presenting herself to the sensor Arabella had unclipped from her belt and was now waving in front of her face. 

“Say ‘ah,’ mouth wide open, please.”

Eno complied and the Health Agent swabbed the inside of her cheek, scanned the resulting sample, threw the soiled swab stick in a bag at her hip. A few seconds passed as they all waited for the machine to process the sample. It came back with a green light and happy chime, and the Health Agent declared Eno 100% healthy. The bothan immediately handed Eno a small box from a floating tray, which she took before stepping back to the wall. 

“Sir, your turn.” 

“The helmet stays on.” 

“I’ll have to draw blood.” 

Din stepped forward, taking off the glove and vambrace on his right arm and bunching up the fabric to expose the crook of his elbow. There was a very select group of people who had ever seen so much of his skin, but he had no want for drama. After five hours of delay, and despite the surprisingly charming company, he had only one wish: land on that kriffing planet and deliver his bounty. 

“Human, correct?” asked the Health Agent. 

Din confirmed with a nod, and she kept the contact to a minimum as she quickly drew a bit of blood. The blood also went to the scanner, and after a bit of waiting, the device also chimed another healthy result. 

The bothan handed Din a box of food, which he mechanically accepted as he asked the Health agent: 

“Do you know when we’ll be able to land?” 

She checked the time and answered: 

“We’ve gone through about two thirds of the ship, so probably another 3 hours or so.” 

Taking in the slump of Din’s shoulders, she added: 

“Stay hydrated, maybe lose a few layers if you can, you’ll be fine. Don’t leave the cabin until the ok comes on the comm system.” 

As fast as they had arrived, the group exited the cabin and moved on to the next door in the hallway. 

“Well then, dinner time, I suppose!” cheerfully said Eno, lowering the cabin’s small table and benches from where they folded flat to the wall. She was about to open the to-go box when she paused: “Unless it is rude for me to eat in your presence? I guess I could eat in the fresher.”

Din waved her on: “Please, eat.” 

They sat each on one side of the table and Eno perused the box’s contents, taking the vacusealed containers out as she went: some fresh greens with a sauce packet, some dubious stew the label asserted was bantha meat and cabbage, and a fruit salad. Eno carefully opened the stew container first, while it was still warm, and tried a spoonful. 

Din watched her chew thoughtfully, then take a another couple bites before he asked:

“Verdict?” 

“About as good as it gets on a ship like this. Bit bland, but I tend to like it hot. Pantoran spices, now that’s where it’s at!”

Eno had gestured a bit too enthusiastically at that declaration, and a bit of sauce landed on the corner of her lips from the spoon she was waving. She quickly licked it off. Din felt his heart skip a beat. Her tongue was purple. It made sense, of course, logically. Pantorans bled red and her lips also were a shade between blue and red, but somehow he had not been expecting it. Plus, tongues were a  _ thing _ for Mandalorians: they belonged to sex with lovers you trusted enough to remove your helmet with. That made them both a bit of a taboo and an eminently erotic body part. To know the color of Eno’s tongue felt both arousing and intimate. 

“Mandalorian?”

Din made an inquisitive noise, pretending he had been paying attention to her ravings about a particular Pantoran spice she loved. She smiled and followed up: “What about you, any particular way you like your food?” right before licking her spoon clean.

Din took one, two, three too-quick breaths before blurting the first thing his brain could come up with: “Edible.” 

To Din’s relief, she thought he was joking and burst into a full-bellied laugh that she ended on a sigh. Waving a hand in his general direction, Eno said: 

“Fine, fine, keep the mystery whole” before resuming eating.

Needing to take some distance, and feeling much too warm for comfort, Din stood from the bench and went to face the bunk, methodically unstrapping his armor and laying it on the floor at the foot of the bunk in a way that made it easy to reequip quickly. When he turned back to Eno, she had finished eating, and was now leaning on her hand, elbow propped on the table, watching him. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” she said, and Din couldn’t tell if she was fascinated by the way the armor fit together, or by the fact that he was taking it off. 

Glad for the way the helmet kept her from seeing him blush, he slowly removed the armor’s underlayer, getting down to the tighter base layers he wore underneath and changed everyday, composed of a plain black long-sleeved shirt and dark green leggings, both soft and faded with use. Her eyes traveled down and back up, and she smiled. 

“It’s kind of nice, knowing you do laundry like the rest of us mortals under the beskar.” 

Din walked back to the table and sat across from Eno again, feeling both much more comfortable now that he wasn’t stewing in his armor, and vulnerable in a way that hadn’t all to do with having shed the physical exterior layers. He pushed his dinner box towards her: 

“You can eat mine if you want,” he offered. 

“I’m good. I can spend some time in the fresher if you want to eat in peace, though.” 

“I ate already.” 

They stared at each other for a beat over the table, and Din absurdly wished he was the kind of person to carry a deck of cards so he could offer to play a game. The moment passed, and he got up instead, crouching by his bag to tuck the to-go box away for later. When he stood back up, Eno had folded the table away and was stretching her arms above her head. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m way too wired to keep reading.”

Din hummed non-committedly. He had some audio romance novels on his datapad, but there was no way he was playing one of them with another living being in the room, even within the confines of his helmet. Paz was still laughing from the time he’d commed Din while he was doing some repairs on the Razor Crest and had overheard a steamy fragment of the novel before Din could cut the feed. 

“Do you mind if I do some stretching?” 

Din shook his head and sat on the bunk, and after removing her shoes, Eno paced herself through a series of slow poses, moving from crouches to lunges, to tiptoes. Intrigued, Din followed her form across the small room. The movements weren’t martial, but had some foundations that felt almost familiar. 

“You can join, if you want.” 

Eno sounded a bit amused, but kept her movements ample, and slow. A few more minutes passed before Din decided, why not. They would be stuck here for another two hours at least, so they might as well pass the time. He removed his boots and went to stand in front of her. Eno finished the movement she was working through and came to kneel. Din knelt slowly, copying her position, knees spaced and strong, arms at rest, palms turned towards her. 

She smiled and started moving again, and Din recognized the same sequence she had started with. He followed, and as his body fell into the rhythm of it, breath synchronizing, that nagging sense of familiarity flared. They were moving their weight from a folded back leg onto a forward fold, straightening their back legs in the process, when it hit him: the conditioning he had undergone as a Foundling was very similar, meant not only to strengthen the body, but to also better the children’s senses of balance and proprioception. 

“You’re a natural,” commented Eno as they circled back to the initial kneeling pose. 

“This is… reminiscent of some of my training.” 

Her smile had a quality Din could not name as she said: 

“I’m not surprised. This is a warmup used in Ubardian oil wrestling. I wager many martial arts include some similar forms.”    
“You can fight.” 

“I excel at knife-throwing and I used to wrestle.” 

Din was considering her in that new light when she offered, a smile on her lips: 

“Would you wish to spar, Mandalorian?”

Din titled his head, looking her over. They seemed equivalent in weight, but his mass was mostly muscles, while hers was all soft curves. 

“That hardly seems a fair match.” 

“It’s true I have lacked diligence in practicing Ubardian oil wrestling, but imagine the story I’ll be able to tell in cantinas.” 

Eno’s voice dropped an octave, and she turned to an invisible third person: 

“There was this Mandalorian once. We… sparred.” 

The flirtatious grin that accompanied the deliberate pause scrambled Din’s brain a bit and, sensing his hesitation, she added, cheekily: 

“I’ll go easy on you. You’re not wearing your full armor, after all.” 

He was standing, offering her a hand up, before he fully, consciously, made the decision to accept. She took his hand and rose to her feet, and they stood so close Din had to look up to meet her eyes - bootless, he was shorter than she was, which sent a thrill through him. 

“You’re on,” he said, and backed away two quick steps. 

The air seemed to turn electric as her stance immediately changed. She bent her knees and her center of gravity moved lower than his. She raised her left hand to protect her face and lowered her right to protect her torso. Din’s body fell into a similar stance, and they started circling each other. He waited for her to make the first move, and she jabbed at him a couple times, obviously too far to reach, just testing the waters. He retaliated, slowing himself and aiming wide, but still she flinched. Din backed away, waiting for her to decide if she wanted to proceed. He saw her steel herself, her face pulling into a frown as she pulled focus over herself like the armor neither of them were wearing. She resumed pacing him and he followed her lead, answering in kind when she aimed for him, the blows coming closer as she grew bolder. Her movements lacked precision and speed, but they were good enough to make Din’s body sing with the familiar promise of a fight.

They were starting to sweat, the heat and the tension rising like a summer storm inside the small room, when she landed her first blow, taking an opening Din had left her, and he suddenly understood they had not quite been playing the same game as she gripped his shirt and attempted to trip him to the ground. She was a wrestler, Din realized, and he had been trying to land hits. Their next go around, he went for a grapple, and the fun really started. She immediately wrapped her hands on his biceps and started pushing, their feet waging a battle that aimed to send one of them to the ground. Din got close to overpowering Eno, and she broke the grapple, suddenly slipping out of his grasp, only to come back at him with a slightly different grip. Din was at a disadvantage: she was wearing a very tight, very smooth tank top that left very few decent places for purchase, and sweat slicked the skin of her arms, aiding her in eluding his grip there. 

Din was considering going for broke, rushing her and wrapping his arms around her until he could grip his own wrist, throwing them both to the ground, when Eno took advantage of his distraction, stepping inside his guard. His shirt bunched in one hand, and the other on his shoulder, she attempted a classic tripping move. Focused on avoiding her foot’s swipe at his ankle, and his field of vision impaired by the helmet in such close quarters, Din failed to see the hand in his shirt suddenly dive down and seize his belt. He was still trying to regain the footing lost after her swiping attempt when she suddenly anchored her feet, pivoting her whole upper body and simply spinning him heels over head to the floor. 

Reflexes took over, and Din rolled, going to his knees, toes solidly planted, before she could follow through and pin him to the ground. He scrambled forward until he gripped her and the fight devolved into a ground tussle, where Din’s raw strength and agility were matched by Eno’s slipperiness and superior technique. It was also becoming increasingly hard for Din to ignore how his body's reaction to the prolonged contact of naked skin to his much-less-clothed-than-usual flesh was not one of alarm but one of pleasure. Any real fight would have been finished long ago, after all. Din was not sure Eno consciously realized what was going on with her wrestling partner, but she had no qualms exploiting all of Din’s hesitations. When his grip slipped and he accidentally ended up with a handful of breast, she merely moved so that, as he let go hurriedly, she caught his wrist. Pivoting on her knees, she brought her body behind his, and trapped his arm between them in a solid hold.

“Do you surrender?” she panted in his ear, twisting his arm just so to hint at the pain she could inflict on him should he choose to keep fighting. 

Of course, had it been a real fight, Din could still have broken her nose with his helmet, but as it was, Din had to think of something else. Thankfully for him, Eno was underestimating a Mandalorian’s tolerance for pain. Gripping the hand that was holding his twisted arm’s wrist, Din leaned forward despite the ache it created in his shoulder. Using the bit of space he had just created, Din freed his arm from behind his back, pulling Eno off-balance at the same time. Turning on his knees, he used his free hand to grab her shoulder and further destabilize her. With a gasp, Eno fell across his lap, and when she instinctively went to roll away, Din followed, pinning her shoulders to the ground with the combined weight of his upper body and the push of his curled legs, his hands maintaining pressure on her upper arms so that none of her limbs could kick or grasp him. The hold had the unfortunate side effect of tucking his head on top of her ample bosom, but after a few desperate attempts at freeing herself, Eno went limp and slapped the floor twice in surrender. Din immediately rolled away and they lied side by side on the floor, panting hard in the humid heat of the room. 

“It’s not often that I cross paths with men who can handle me so,” Eno said after a while, and she sounded pleased. Din laughed, eyes closed, breathing deep. He felt at once heavy and light, tired, sweaty, thrumming, exhilarated. 

“I find I rather like it,” she added, and Din turned his head towards her, watching as she rolled to her side, propping herself on her elbow, tank top fighting to contain her breasts. 

Eno suddenly chuckled and, shuffling closer, reached over Din for her bag, rifling blindly through the contents before pulling out a dry piece of cloth which she used to start wiping his helmet. 

“Could you even still see through all that...boob sweat?” 

Din, feeling his body tingle with arousal as she gently kept working on his helmet, could not find the words to explain that the helmet was built to display a live feed from a separate, self-cleaning camera should the visor get obscured. Eno kept on working until the visor was fully see-through again, and eased back slightly, considering him with a rueful smile as she said:

“I won’t lie, I rather like the idea of a piece of you covered in some of my bodily fluids, but that was not really the part, nor the fluid I had in mind.” 

Din was not sure what sound he made, aware only of the rush of blood to his face and cock, but she shuffled back a bit more, laughing. 

“Did I break you?”

“It can be arranged,” belatedly said Din, rolling to his side to face her.

“Huh?”

“Name the part, name the fluid. As long as it doesn’t involve showing you my face, I’ll do it.”

It was Eno’s turn to wheeze, her mouth opening a couple times before she finally got out: 

“I… How much of you can I touch? How much skin can I unclothe?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve showing you my face, I’ll do it,” Din repeated, pleased with himself as she kept staring, clearly running through scenarios in her head, her hands slowly clenching and unclenching like she had him in her grasp again. In truth, Din had a few more limits than that, but her travel bag was hardly large enough for chains, whips, or any of the paraphernalia of the type of lovers he would not take. He was on birth control, and they had both received a full bill of health just an hour ago. 

Eno snapped out of it with a whispered “Kriff” and moved to straddle him, both of them groaning as their crotches came in contact. Once settled, Eno seized the bottom of her tank top, and slowly peeled it up and off. It was Din’s turn to be dazed and speechless as an abundance of flesh was freed from its confines. The top hit the floor with a wet smack and Din lost himself in the enticing vision presented to him: Eno, smiling down at him softly, yellow eyes twinkling, her braided hair a mess of escapist white curls, her skin flushed purple by exertion and glistening with sweat. 

“Touch me?” she asked, and Din obliged, right hand rising to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear before tracing the bow of her lips, the apex of her cheekbone, the arc of her brow. She indulged his slowness, directing her own hands to his aloft arm, bunching his shirt’s long sleeve so she could trail feather-light touches from the inside of his wrists to the crook of his elbow, bringing the small puncture from the blood draw to her mouth for a kiss. The motion had her lean down and Din squeaked as the pressure on his trapped cock shifted, tantalizing and far from enough. Eno chuckled and let go of his arm, planting her hands firmly on the floor on each side of his head, gaze directed at his through the helmet as she started moving her hips back and forth, the friction through their pants causing them both to groan. 

“Goddess be damned, touch me,” implored Eno, spurring Din into action. This time, his exploration was more purposeful, and after caressing her shoulders and collarbones, he grazed her nipples, which hardened under his touch. Eno swore softly and, emboldened, Din applied more pressure to his next pass, pinching and rolling the swollen nubs, wrenching a moan from his partner, before doing what he had been fantasizing about since she had taken off her vest and shirt: grabbing a breast in each hand, and revel in the fact that his palms could not contain her bountiful chest, her deliciously soft and yielding flesh squeezing through his fingers. Judging by the way the rhythm of her grinding faltered, she was enjoying it. After a minute, Din regretfully let go of her breasts only to treat the rolls of her belly and hips to the same appreciative squeezing, stopping his exploration with a defeated groan when her clad buttocks could not be subjected to the same treatment. 

“Pants?” he asked.

“Off?”

“Off.”

She immediately rocked back onto her heels and stood up, and Din followed suit, dizzy for a second from standing too fast, but catching on quick enough as they both did a slightly silly dance to rid themselves of their sticky, sweaty pants. When Din lifted his head again, the dizziness came roaring back, though this time it had everything to do with the gloriously naked woman standing in front of him. He shook himself, dropping his pants to the ground. 

“Should I…” he pulled on his shirt and pointed at the refresher, but Eno shook her head. 

“No kriffing time, want you now,” she simply said before gripping said shirt, licking a stripe up his visor, and trying to use his lusty confusion to wrestle him onto the bunk. But Din was not aroused past the point of overcoming his fighting instinct, so in the two steps it took them to reach the bed, he had reversed their situation, and when the both of them tumbled on top of the mattress, Din was on top, hands at her wrists, knees on her thighs, immobilizing her fully. Eno squirmed a second before tapping her hand twice on the mattress. Coming back to his senses, Din immediately let go of her, making to move off the cot, but she ran her freed hands down his back, pulling him back to her, opening her legs so he could kneel in the vee they formed. 

“Sorry,” muttered Din, unable to meet her eyes.

“My bad, I shouldn’t have tried that move with you.”

Clutching his shoulder with one hand, she used the other to gently tilt his helmet until her eyes were level with the top bar of his visor’s tee. 

“Do you want to keep going?” she pointedly glanced at his softening dick. 

“I hurt you.”

Eno laughed, that full belly-laugh Din had enjoyed once before that day, except this time he got to see how it made her entire body jiggle. 

“Mandalorian, if I’m sore tomorrow, and I will most certainly be, it will be from the 30 minutes of wrestling on the floor we did, not from being manhandled onto a mattress. Do you want to keep going?” and she punctuated her question with a roll of her hips on his half-hard cock. 

“Ye...uuuh,” was Din’s attempt at an answer, but Eno got the gist of it, as she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing him closer. 

“I am so kriffing wet for you, Mandalorian, can you feel it?”

Din’s hips stuttered at her statement, and his cock slipped into place between her folds, and oh - yes - she was soaking wet, delightfully slippery, and hot, so hot.

“Touch me,” she said, and when Din, overwhelmed, failed to comply, she brought his hands to her chest. Catching up with the program, Din started kneading at her breasts. As his hips found a rhythm, rubbing his cock against her pussy, she used her own hands to channel him, so that every time he rocked forward, the head rubbed her clitoris. Even through the helmet’s filters, the smell of sex, the slick noise of skin on skin, and their groans of pleasure were mingling in a way that drove Din to piston his hips faster, approaching orgasm quickly. 

“E… Eno… Gonna…”

“Yeah, kriff, come on me,” she panted before moving one of her hands to his butt, urging him to go faster. 

Desperate to please Eno as she was pleasing him, Din took the opportunity of more space at their joined crotches to move one of his hands down, thumb quickly finding her clitoris. Eno tensed up with a low moan, and Din used all of his remaining focus to draw deep, tight circles there. Their hips lost their synchronicity as they both chased their peaks, a few frantic moments all it took to send Eno over the edge, her body going taut and the hand she still had around Din’s cock clenching tight. That extra bit of pressure combined with Eno’s moans of release were exactly what Din needed to let go, and three more pelvic thrusts had him shoot semen all over Eno’s belly. The sight of his seed painting her skin, and pooling inside her belly button and rolls wrenched another spurt out of Din and he moaned high and keening before letting himself fall to Eno’s side on the mattress, curled in her embrace because of the lack of space, head pillowed on her shoulder.

When he came to, heart and breathing slowing, he was tracing mindless circles on her thigh, and she had snuck her hand up his shirt and was scratching his back. Turning her head to meet his gaze, she said:

“I want it stated for the record that I most definitely won that bout of sparring.” 

A laugh wheezed out of Din, and he smacked her thigh lightly twice with a tired: 

“I concede defeat.”

They cuddled for another few moments until the heat and the cramped quarters became too much. With a sigh, Eno shuffled off the bed and into a standing position, stretching and making Din regret he had not spent more time palming her generous ass. 

“We better hope they didn’t cut the sonic along with the water,” she mentioned as she wandered to the fresher, disappearing in the small space. Unable to muster up enough energy to worry about such considerations, Din dozed off until she reemerged, still completely naked, her hair loose and curling past her shoulders. 

“Good news, the sonic is on.” 

“Hmmm.”

“Still alive, Mandalorian?”

Din stretched on the bed, luxuriating in the sensation of his sore muscles. 

“Barely,” he answered before getting up and, unable to resist the temptation, going for a hug and butt grope. Eno indulged him briefly before gently detangling them, complaining that he was going to make her sticky again. Din let out a dramatic sigh and went on to start gathering his gear from the various parts of the room where it had ended up while Eno rummaged in her travel bag for a clean outfit. Din was still looking for his discarded pants - which he eventually found under the cot - when the comm system crackled alive, informing them they had been cleared for landing and that all systems were being turned back on.

In the privacy of the locked refresher, Din fully undressed and stepped into the sonic. Never before had the vibrations felt this good as the sweat and grime fell away, leaving goosebumps in their wake – the temperature was dropping quickly in the small room as the coolant systems quicked back on. Feeling slow and sated, Din took his time to gear back up, putting dry clothes on and layering his underlayer and armor in a meditative state. When he stepped out of the refresher, Eno was back to being fully dressed as well. They stood facing each other for a moment before the Pantoran cracked and a grin spread on her face. 

“Even with you back to being fully armored, I can still tell you’re feeling all mellow.”

Din attempted to straighten up and look his usual imposing self, but it was quite true the only thing he wanted was to lay down for a nap. Marvelous what endorphins could do to a sour mood. The ship groaned and they both swayed as it docked, the clamps securing the ship with a distinctive katchunk. 

“Oh, finally,” she sighed, turning to the door, grabbing her bag as she went. 

“No offense,” she added belatedly, turning back to Din with a wink.

“None taken,” he answered, crouching to enter the powering code into the carbonite slab’s control panel. The hover came on with a whirr, and the slate righted itself as it started floating. Eno slid the door open. The hallway was already filling with passengers impatient to disembark. She sighed again, and was about to step out into the throng when Din compulsively caught her hand, causing her to turn back towards him. 

“Thank you, Eno,” is all he could find to say, but it must have been enough because her face lit up with a smile and she brought his gloved hand to her mouth for a kiss. 

“The pleasure was all mine, Mandalorian,” she answered, her voice merry and her smile turning devious right before she quickly surged forward to peck his helm where his mouth would be. Before Din could respond, she turned around, quickly weaving her way through the crowd and disappearing around the corner. 

Din had to go back to the refresher to clean the lipstick off his helmet. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
